Humiliated
by EstellaB
Summary: Jill has been at school in some shape or another for thirteen years, and she has never been disciplined. Until now. Perhaps a very small little bit of fluff at the end? Otherwise just... randomness.


**For Rosa Cotton, who requested (sort of!) a sequel to Untitled.**

**Disclaimer: Jill, Eustace, and Experiment House belong to C.S. Lewis, not me. I write for pleasure, not money, so don't sue me.**

Jill gloomily exited her dorm. This was the thirteenth year of her life spent in education, and she had never before been disciplined. _They_ had had a variety of abusive terms for her, all revolving around being a teachers' pet (though, of course, They had not put it so mildly). And the one thing she was good at, the one area in which she excelled, was now blotted forever. And all for losing her Latin prep! Well, for losing or forgetting to do four consecutive pieces of Latin prep, but still! She scowled at the pile of books in her hands. According to her livid Latin master, her parents would be informed of her misconduct. Wonderful. Just wonderful. She stumbled over a tatty-looking hockey stick left in the hallway by some gap-toothed first-former or other, and aimed a vicious kick at it. The innate sense of guilt she felt at receiving her first study increased significantly when the hockey stick scudded along the immaculately polish floorboards, leaving a series of scratches and dents, and crashed into the skirting board.

Her steps now took her outside, and the feeling of joy Jill normally experienced when the crisp winter air came at her with a rush, biting and cold and bracing, bringing a pink flush into her cheeks, was entirely absent. She knew other people received studies in this school and were not ashamed… were even proud of them… but for someone in the lower sixth to be receiving them! It was unbearable. And soon she would be at the office of the Head of Sixth. _Utterly_ unbearable. The way things worked in her house was that her little brother had letters sent home about his behaviour and inability to apply himself, and she had glowing reports about her work and conduct sent home. She knew that her brother, the clown of the fourth form, was voluntarily studying this evening. An unexpected role-reversal, and not a pleasant one. The polished oak door loomed ahead of her, and she sighed.

The head of Sixth was lecturing some other Latin failures when she entered the hall, and he looked her up and down, overplaying his shock. "My, my, my," he said slowly, his voice dripping with cold sarcasm. "Jill Pole. They're making _rebels_ out of _boffins_ now, are they?" Jill nodded miserably, well aware that others were snickering at her, but unable to do anything about it. Frantically, she scanned the hall for an even slightly familiar face. It was futile, of course. Her friends were all as studious and well-behaved as her. Except...

_**Scrubb?**_

Eustace of all people! He was the one who had voluntarily given up a two-day holiday to study for a vocabulary test! He was a prefect and the captain of the school chess team. Of course, he had been those things before he became bearable, back in the days when he was still practically one of Them, but he was still top of his class every week, still every teachers' favourite, and now, as one of her friends put it, "The only lad in the school I would trust farther than I could throw him." Jill walked over to the empty seat next to Eustace (why did they have to sit in rows? It made her feel like a prisoner, or a soldier!) and clunked her books onto the desk. As she pulled her seat out, and it scraped loudly on the floor, she winced. She had an entirely illogical feeling that everybody in the room was staring at her, and mocking her in their heads. _Stop it, Pole,_ she scolded herself, and attempted to gain control of her raging feelings.

Eustace hadn't even turned to look at her before, but now he did. He looked up at her as she sat down, her face red from humiliation, and smiled. Jill felt a sense of calm flood through her. At least Scrubb wasn't laughing at her. And suddenly, the world was a little less terrible than it had seemed before.

**A/N: A study is like a detention. I'm not entirely sure how realistic it is to put them in a late 40s boarding school, but Expt. House was modern for its time, and my own school, which is delightfully old-fashioned (hint: It's been around since the 1500s, and as far as I can tell, the only changes have been the addition of female staff, girls in the sixth-form, and computers. Other than that, it's still every inch the same), has detentions. So I figure it is all right. :)**


End file.
